


keep on believing

by ShowMeAHero



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Disney World & Disneyland, Fireworks, First Kiss, Fluff, Humor, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, Panic Attacks, Pining, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:41:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22275007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: “Are you two done bickering? Can we go on the fucking ride now, please?” Stan asks. Richie chances a look over his shoulder at Eddie, who’s still watching him with confused eyes, brow furrowed, which is just— way,waytoo much.“This is the fucking ride you wanna go on?” Richie asks with a forced laugh, turning back around. “The ride where Mr. Toad takes you on a fucking streetcar ride to Hell, that ride?”“Yes, Richie, that ride,” Stan replies, dry. “I thought you’d like a sneak peek of your final destination.”
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 30
Kudos: 425





	keep on believing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tozierrichie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tozierrichie/gifts).



> A commission for [Gillian](https://twitter.com/richietozxer?s=09) on Twitter!
> 
> Title taken from ["A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes"](https://genius-com.cdn.ampproject.org/v/s/genius.com/amp/Walt-disney-records-a-dream-is-a-wish-your-heart-makes-lyrics?amp_js_v=a2&_gsa=1&usqp=mq331AQCKAE%3D#aoh=15791452381836&_ct=1579145242487&referrer=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.google.com&_tf=From%20%251%24s&share=https%3A%2F%2Fgenius.com%2FWalt-disney-records-a-dream-is-a-wish-your-heart-makes-lyrics).

“What do you think, Eds?” Richie asks, grinning, arms spread as he stands in the middle of the sidewalk. Eddie rolls his eyes at him, but he’s smiling just a little bit, too. “Oh, you like ‘em.”

“Shut up, I don’t,” Eddie insists. Richie hauls him in with an arm around his shoulders, presenting Eddie with his own pair of golden mouse ears.

“They’re special edition, Eds,” Richie tells him. He slips the Mickey ears on Eddie’s head and cups his face in his hands, squishing his cheeks together. Eddie swats him off.

“You’re almost fucking thirty, Richie,” Eddie snaps. They’re following the plan that Stan and Mike have come up with for their day, and so following Stan and Mike as they lead the Losers through Disneyland on their vacation together. It’s the first time all seven of them have actually been able to save up enough money to go anywhere cool, and Disneyland was the only place they could all agree on.

 _“‘Almost’_ being the operative word,” Richie reminds him. He rattles Eddie a little before releasing him and dropping his arm across his shoulders again. Eddie’s a warm ball of heat under him, in his t-shirt and shorts, two fanny packs strung across his hips. Richie’s still got his red hoodie on over his t-shirt, which Eddie had heckled him for when he bought it.

“Sometimes you look closer to three than thirty,” Eddie teases him. He flicks Richie in the chest, making his heart thump against the bone. “Stupid fucking shirt. Why do you wear shit like this?”

“Because Anakin deserved better,” Richie says, tugging on his shirt. _“Deep_ betrayal, having his boyfriend turn on him like that, that’s just tragic.”

“Anakin and Obi-Wan are not _boyfriends,_ Richie, they were best friends and Anakin was in love with Padme,” Eddie argues. “They have two kids together.”

“You telling me you don’t look at Anakin and see a guy hopelessly repressing his emotions?” Richie asks, which is maybe too on-the-nose for himself, so he quickly changes tact and says, _“Anyways,_ Eds, Anakin’s cool as fuck and there’s, like, no fucking shit with him on it. Hence, shitty t-shirt.”

“You’re not supposed to like Darth Vader,” Eddie reminds him.

“He wasn’t Darth Vader yet,” Richie says. “Anyways, you’re not supposed to _like_ him, you’re supposed to understand him. And I don’t _like_ him, I _love_ him, get it—”

“You’re fucking exhausting—”

 _“—Get it right,_ you dipshit,” Richie repeats, laughing. Eddie pushes at him, but Richie yanks him back in, rubbing a fist into his hair until Eddie bodily shoves him off. “I didn’t see the movie six times for my health, Eds.”

“What, you saw it because you thought Anakin was hot?” Eddie asks. He’s still laughing, when he turns back to Richie, but the blood’s drained out of Richie’s face and he has to force a weak laugh when Eddie frowns a little at him. It’s one thing for Richie to joke about it, but whenever Eddie hints that he might know more about Richie than Richie intends for him to know, he always clams right up.

“I— Uh,” Richie says, intelligent as ever. Eddie slows, then stops completely, so Richie stops, too. He sometimes thinks there’s some stupid cosmic magnet in his brain that’s attached to Eddie’s.

“You okay, Rich?” Eddie asks. Richie nods, smiles again, and he’s trying desperately to think of something normal to say when Stan waves a hand in between their faces. Without a second thought, Richie latches on to him, whirling and laughing.

“Are you two done bickering? Can we go on the fucking ride now, please?” Stan asks. Richie chances a look over his shoulder at Eddie, who’s still watching him with confused eyes, brow furrowed, which is just— way, _way_ too much.

“This is the fucking ride you wanna go on?” Richie asks with a forced laugh, turning back around. “The ride where Mr. Toad takes you on a fucking streetcar ride to Hell, that ride?”

“Yes, Richie, that ride,” Stan replies, dry. “I thought you’d like a sneak peek of your final destination.”

“Oh, you know me so well,” Richie says. “Which of the sins did he get me for? Probably envy, since—”

“Since Eddie?” Stan asks. Richie pinches his arm, glancing over his shoulder at Eddie and dropping their heads close together.

“Not where he can hear you, man, what the fuck’s wrong with you?” Richie says. Stan rolls his eyes, plucking Richie’s hand off his shoulder and depositing it back at Richie’s side. Richie just tangles their fingers together, drawing a sigh out of Stan. He doesn’t pull back, though, so Richie just squeezes his hand and lets himself be taken into the line for Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. Ben is laughing loudly at some joke Bev’s just cracked up ahead of them, and she doesn’t hesitate to pull him into a kiss. It makes Richie’s whole stupid fucking chest ache to watch. Stan squeezes his hand in return.

“If he hears us, he’ll tell you he’s in love with you, too, so you can stop being such a sad-sack all the time and be happy together,” Stan hisses back at him. Richie glances over Stan’s shoulder again at Eddie. He’s fallen back to walk with Bill and Mike, their hands swinging together in between them. Richie wishes he could be like them. He’s watched all the hard work that they’ve put in to get here, to be in love with each other and admit that to themselves _and_ to each other, and then to keep doing that every day, and _then,_ to be brave enough to— to _hold hands_ at fucking _Disneyland,_ of all places— in _public,_ where people can see, strangers and the Losers and Eddie, God, _Eddie—_ it’s— it’s—

“Richie,” Stan whispers. Richie inhales sharply. “Richie, I— I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, you’re right,” Richie says. Eddie’s looking up at him now, smiling but still a little confused, brow furrowing again as he meets Richie’s eye.

“I’m—”

“Hey, what’s so fucking funny?” Richie asks, releasing Stan to bound up in between Bev and Ben, breaking them apart with an arm across each of their shoulders as he hauls them into line.

The line isn’t all that long, thank fucking God, because it’s cool inside in the dark area of the waiting space, and goosebumps are rising up all over Eddie’s bare arms and legs, making him shiver and rub his hands vigorously over his thighs. Just _watching_ that makes Richie feels like he’s in a dirty porno, so he all but rips his hoodie off and holds it out.

“Take it,” Richie tells him. Eddie furrows his brow, taking it. Richie makes himself laugh and says, “Man, you’re gonna get hypothermia before we even on, that’ll be the _real_ wild ride.”

“Shut up, Richie,” Eddie snaps at him, shrugging his hoodie on and zipping up the front. He tugs the sleeves over his hands and rubs at his arms to warm himself. It’s so fucking distracting, making Richie’s blood boil in his veins.

“Eddie Kaspbrak’s wild ride is just any ride we take where he’s driving,” Mike jokes. Eddie socks him on the arm, which just makes them all laugh harder.

“Learn how to drive and we wouldn’t have to make fun of you for it, Eds,” Richie says. Eddie actually hops up off the ground to yank Richie’s head down without hesitation, yanking him into a headlock and making Richie shriek. It’s just then that the front of the line clears and it’s their turn next, so Bev forces them to separate so they can actually get on.

They’re together in line though, now, because of the scuffle, and after Bev and Ben get in their rolling seat, it’s just Richie and Eddie. It would look weird if Richie backed up and made Eddie go ahead of him, and even weirder if he looked back and grabbed Bill or Mike or Stan instead of Eddie, so he just has to get on and sit with him in the fucking dark and pray that it ends swiftly.

Richie is nothing if not the complete opposite end of the devotion spectrum to Stan, who actually still goes to temple. Richie, on the other hand, hasn’t been since— whenever the last time Stan fucking drove him was, which means there’s probably nobody listening to someone who is technically Jewish and functionally an atheist, and so the ride stops halfway through.

Eddie leans out around their seat, trying to get a good look at the car behind theirs, where Bill and Mike are crammed together. When he sits back down, facing forwards, he’s frowning.

“What’s up?” Richie asks. Eddie’s face looks a little flushed, in the dark and neon surrounding them. _Because it’s so fucking hot out,_ Richie tells himself, even though Eddie’s still got goosebumps where his thighs and calves are visible under Richie’s— _Richie’s hoodie,_ how did he _fucking_ forget? He has to force himself to look away, staring hard at the fountain they’re stuck next to. There’s a big stupid fish on the top, upside-down, the purple-blue waters reflecting off its cartoonish face, and he just focuses straight on that.

“They’re making out,” Eddie finally answers. Richie blinks up at the fish, but the fish does not blink back.

“Who?” Richie asks.

“Mike and Bill,” Eddie says. “Behind us. In their car, they’re making out.”

Richie starts to turn around to look for himself, but Eddie grabs his wrist, making him turn back around. He pulls, just a little, but Richie settles back into his seat for him. “What?”

“Leave ‘em be,” Eddie says. He glances over his shoulder, just one quick look, but his face goes a little pinker in the weird lighting. “I don’t know, it’s— It sucks that they can’t do this a lot in public, I don’t know. It’s dark in here so they can do whatever they want. They probably shouldn’t be doing it in _here,_ specifically, because this place is pretty much just a closed-up box of germs coming out of tourists and children and the _children_ of _tourists—”_

“I’m sure your rambling is great for the erotic mood they’re trying to set,” Richie jokes, just as water sprays up out of the fountain beside them, making him jump and shout, _“Jesus!”_

Eddie laughs so hard he snorts, which makes Richie laugh, his heart still pounding in his chest. Eddie leans back in their seat, after a bit, calming, breathing evening out as he looks over the scene still stuck in front of them. There are pastel-colored houses doused in blacklights, glowing neon in the dark ride’s vast black emptiness. They glow off Eddie’s face, where Richie’s watching him, because of _course_ he’s watching him. He doesn’t care about the fish fountain or the waterworks or the pastel houses. Right now, he pretty much only cares about Eddie.

Eddie glances at him, then, and Richie’s brain short-circuits a little. Eddie smiles. Richie’s chest tells him to tell Eddie that he loves him, that he looks handsome, that he _loves him,_ and so Richie’s brain overcompensates and instead makes him say, “It’s probably for the best they paired me up with you then, right?”

Eddie’s smile drops, twists down into a frown, and the alarm bells that tell Richie that Eddie is upset about something start going off.

“Why?” Eddie asks.

“Because— I,” Richie says, then stops. “I just mean— Well, Bill and Mike, and, uhh—”

“Richie, you’re not making any sense,” Eddie tells him.

“I shouldn’t be allowed alone for too long in the dark with you,” Richie tries to joke, “is what I… mean.”

Eddie’s brow furrows. It’s so fucking _stupid,_ it doesn’t even make _sense,_ and it’s obvious Eddie doesn’t understand it any more than Richie does. After a moment, he sighs sharply, reaching out to yank the Mickey ears off Richie’s head along with his own.

“I can’t fucking take you seriously with those on,” Eddie tells him. Richie smiles a little, in spite of himself, but the smile drips off his face when Eddie sets the ears aside and looks back at him again. Those dark eyes are glowing almost magenta from the weird lighting, but Richie’s just as lost in them as he is when they’re their regular brown.

“What do you mean?” Eddie asks again, bewildered. Richie can feel the panic starting to creep up his spine, a cold trail that leaks upwards as he looks down at their bar spread across their laps.

“I didn’t— That was stupid of me to say,” Richie says. He yanks lightly on the bar, then moves to stand up. “Hey, I’ll just— I’m just gonna—”

“Richie, you can’t get off the ride, what the hell are you doing?” Eddie demands, but Richie’s not listening to him, because his brain is getting foggy and he just wants to run away. The bar won’t move, and his legs are too long to wriggle himself out, so he just starts to freak out, trapped there in the fucking car on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. The fish is still looking down at him, but now it seems almost twisted and ghoulish.

“I have to get off,” Richie tells him. He can feel his chest heaving, and he says, “Eds, Eddie, I have to get off—”

“Richie, you can’t, there are rules, there are safety rules, you can’t, fuck, what the—” Eddie grabs his wrists when Richie tries to squirm out of the car again, pulling him back down. “Richie, what the fuck are you doing? Sit _down!”_

“No, fuck, Eds—” Richie starts to say, then stops. He looks down at Eddie’s hands on his, then up at his face. Eddie’s looking at him with so much fucking concern and Richie’s all twisted up inside because of it.

“Hey, Rich, it’s okay,” Eddie tells him softly. “It’s okay.”

It’s _not_ okay, but the fact that Eddie’s telling him it is makes him think Eddie knows something really _isn’t_ okay. Which means he might know— he might _know_ know, which, maybe not— maybe _not,_ but Richie’s panicked brain doesn’t give a shit about “maybe” and so he just pulls his hands out of Eddie’s and tries not to start crying. And maybe it's easier, in the darkness and the anonymity and the public setting and the panic, to blurt out the fucking thing, the _thing_ he's kept from Eddie all these years, which Eddie might even fucking know-- Or at least, he knows fucking _now._

“I’m so sorry,” Richie apologizes. He hopes that’ll help, that maybe Eddie won’t be as— disappointed, or upset, as he looks like he is in the lights on Mr. Toad’s Wild fucking Ride.

“What’re you sorry for?” Eddie asks. “Being claustrophobic? I didn’t even know—”

“No, no, for,” Richie motions vigorously between them. “The— Me. The me. And my— my feelings.”

“What feelings?” Eddie demands.

“No, I—”

“Richie, _what_ feelings?” Eddie repeats, more firmly this time, and Richie shakes his head. _“Richie—”_

“My feelings for _you,_ Eddie, obviously,” Richie says. Eddie’s big eyes widen, making him look so fucking startled with his eyebrows lifted like that that Richie breaks out into a cold sweat. “What— What else would I be sorry for right now?”

“I— I don’t know,” Eddie manages, choked. Richie thought he knew, he really— he _really_ thought he knew, but the look on his face suggests he fucking did _not,_ and Richie _really_ starts to spiral, but he’s still stuck in the seat, looking up at that motherfucking _fish,_ now, staring upwards, his hands starting to sweat.

“I didn’t—” Richie starts, then says, “I— Eds.”

“Richie,” Eddie replies.

"I love you,” Richie says. Eddie stares at him. The fountains spray water again, but neither of them move. It’s terrible timing, and arguably the most inelegant thing Richie’s ever done in his life, and Eddie’s prolonged silence makes his stomach churn.

“Rich,” Eddie finally manages. Richie’s nails are pressing hard into his palms as he waits, and then Eddie’s off, talking a mile a minute, stammering out, "Richie, I— I didn't, I didn't know, I thought you were straight because— Well, I don't know, I don't know why I thought that, I've— I've never seen you date a man, but I've never really seen you— seen you date anyone, I suppose, which, must— must be—"

"Because I'm in love with you," Richie says, sounding raspy even to his own ears. He clears his throat and looks away, grabbing at the bar again and yanking on it. "Yeah, I'm— I'm sorry about that, I didn't—"

"No!" Eddie exclaims. "No, no, I—" Eddie exhales sharply, then says, "Richie, I'm just— I— Why _now?"_

Richie's bewildered, now, because it's a fucking bewildering question, so he's earned the right. "Why— I'm sorry, why _now?_ What do you _mean,_ why _now?"_

Eddie points aggressively at the fucking fish on the fountain above their heads, and Richie chokes on a laugh that he's afraid he's not allowed to have. "Because we're on Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, you dumb fucking—"

Richie scoots in and kisses Eddie mid-obscenity, cups his face in his hands and silences him by tipping his head and parting his lips. Eddie, _fucking_ bless him, kisses him back without hesitation, grabbing onto Richie's shoulders and shifting in to deepen the kiss.

When Eddie pulls back, water reflecting off his face as it shoots up out of the stupid fountain, Richie can't help but grin stupidly at him. His heart is pounding so hard into his throat that he's sick with it; he feels like he's fucking hallucinating, except he and Mike and Stan decided to save their mushrooms for day two, so it's fucking _real._

"Eddie Kaspbrak's wild ride, indeed," Richie says, sounding just slightly more put-together than he feels. Talking makes him dizzy again, though, and he grabs the bar before he says, "Eddie, I'm gonna be sick."

"Do not get sick on this fucking ride, Richie," Eddie orders him. Richie yanks on the bar again as Eddie says, "Do _not_ fucking puke on this ride, Richie, I swear to fucking God, I will fucking—"

Richie gives up on the bar, so he ends up throwing up across the hood of their little streetcar, making Eddie shriek and Bev scream in front of then, when she turned around. Eddie grabs Richie by the shoulders, hauling him back and pushing his hair up out of his face, pressing his hand up under Richie's glasses, into his cheek and his forehead, to feel his temperature. As Richie's staring up at him, one eye squinted shut under Eddie's palm, the lights all turn on inside the ride, and Richie sees the fish on the fountain in the horrifying fluorescent light of day.

"It's hideous," Richie manages to say, as the bars lift up on the cars and Eddie bodily drags him out of their seat. They're escorted off by an annoyed-looking employee, but Richie can't fucking blame her, since her job's probably hard enough without random guys throwing up on kids' rides.

"You're insufferable," Eddie tells him firmly, dragging him to the bathroom off the little gift shop outside the ride, before any of the others can catch up with them. He sits Richie down on the floor in the tiny bathroom, propped next to the toilet seat in case he's sick again, but Richie's fine. He sort of wants a drink or something, but otherwise, his panic attack is dying and the nausea is fading and now he just wants Eddie.

"I'll be good now," Richie says. Eddie crouches down next to him and wipes his face off with a cool, wet paper towel, then hands him a miniature water bottle out of one of his fanny packs.

"Rinse your mouth then drink some," Eddie tells him. He digs through his pockets and comes up with a tin of mints; he taps two into Richie's upturned palm. "Will you?"

"Will I what?"

"Be good," Eddie clarifies. He's still looking down at the mints in Richie's hand. After a beat of silence, though, his eyes flick up to Richie's.

"If you'll have me," Richie says. Eddie makes a strangled noise, then picks the mints out of Richie's hand. "What are you—"

"Open your mouth," Eddie orders him, and so Richie does, parting his lips so Eddie can push the mints into his mouth. Richie crunches down on them and silences the annoyed protest he _knows_ is about to come out of Eddie's mouth by kissing him again, catching his face in his hands, cupping his jaw just like he had earlier when they were goofing around.

Eddie shivers, even though he's still in Richie's goddamn hoodie, which sends a jolt through Richie in the same moment Eddie parts their lips again and licks into Richie's mouth, shifting to sit over Richie's lap where he's folded up against the wall. Richie's instantly more than half-hard, and he grabs onto Eddie's hips to still him.

"If you want the first time we fuck to be on the floor of the gift shop bathroom outside Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, then keep doing what you're doing," Richie says. Eddie leans back, his pupils so blown that his brown eyes are nearly entirely black. "If you don't, stick a pin in it until we're back at the hotel, alright, babe?"

Eddie scowls at him, but he leans in for one last kiss before pulling his weight off of Richie and standing. He offers Richie one hand and hauls him onto his feet with it, which feels like maybe more of a display of strength than was strictly necessary, but Richie is exactly the last person to complain about that.

"I— Okay, I gotta really twist the knife in my own back here, Eds, I'm sorry," Richie says, as Eddie attempts to flatten his hair in the mirror from where Richie had lightly tugged at the back. He wants to tell Eddie to leave it alone, but then they're making eye contact through the bathroom mirror and Richie says, "I know— I told you I'm in love with you and I mean it, and it's okay if you don't feel that way, I'm serious, I'll settle for a single date, I just—" Richie huffs, but Eddie's looking at him so earnestly in their reflections that he can't _not_ be honest. It's fucking _Eddie._ "I've been in love with you for a long, _long_ time. I'd be lying to you if I didn't tell you that up front, but, it's really not a big deal, because I'm—"

"Rich," Eddie cuts him off. Richie realizes belatedly that he'd dropped his attention to his hands, so he looks back up at Eddie to find him red-faced and glassy-eyed. "Richie, I've loved you— I can't even tell you. A long time. A really long time, and I— I just didn't know what to… do. And I was afraid to do anything. So I just…"

"Didn't," Richie finishes for him. Eddie nods. "Yeah. Me, neither."

"I'm sorry," Eddie says. Richie puts his hands on his shoulders and turns him around, kissing him lightly, pressed back into the sink a little. Eddie's hands come to rest against his chest, and he sighs softly. Richie wants to cry.

"Don't be sorry," Richie tells him. "I—"

Someone bangs on the door, and then Bill shouts, "Hurry up or you'll m-m-miss the fireworks, guys!"

Richie lifts their Mickey hats up off the ground where Eddie dumped them when they'd run in and offers Eddie his. After a beat, Eddie smiles and takes it, slipping it back onto his head.

"Can't miss the fireworks, can we, babe?" Richie asks, and Eddie's whole face flushes so pretty that Richie actually _does_ cry, until Eddie notices and laughs at him so hard that Richie laughs, too, delighting in the warm mess of emotions that Eddie sends melting through him.

The fireworks are spectacular, but Richie doesn't really watch them, for the most part. Instead, he's transfixed by the colors and lights reflecting off Eddie's face, just like he had been on the dark ride.

Only difference is, Eddie's starting to look back this time. When he catches Richie looking, Richie doesn't have to look away or pretend he was doing something else; instead, he can just _look,_ and Eddie looks back, pinks and purples exploding in the sky and shining across his face, making his freckles stand out and his dark eyes fucking sparkle.

"I love you so fucking much, Eds," Richie tells him. Eddie leans up, cups Richie's face in his hands, ignores the hollering of their friends, and kisses him softly, pushing Richie's glasses up into his hair so he can angle their kiss exactly how he wants it. Richie's hands fall to Eddie's waist on instinct, and he presses into the kiss as Eddie takes Richie's glasses off altogether, throwing his arms over Richie's shoulders and hauling him down for a deeper kiss as the fireworks erupt and shatter the sky into stained-glass, the music swelling in almost perfect time with Eddie smiling against his mouth.

"I love you, too," Eddie tells him. Richie pulls back, stays close so he can see Eddie without his glasses on, and grins.

"Can I get back on the ride now?" Richie asks, after a beat of staring at each other as fireworks explode, because he just can't help himself. Eddie rolls his eyes and hauls him in to kiss again. Richie's not sure if it's just to kiss him or to shut him up or both— Well, it's Eddie, so probably both—

 _It's Eddie,_ Richie thinks again, cutting off his own train of thought to press a kiss to Eddie's cheek, then his nose, making him squirm and laugh as Richie grinned, kissing him again and thinking, _It's Eddie, it's Eddie, it's Eddie._

**Author's Note:**

> You can (and should!) come chat with me on Twitter at [@nicolelianesolo](https://twitter.com/nicolelianesolo) and/or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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